


Life and pain...

by Geektaire



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Jinglebarricades, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geektaire/pseuds/Geektaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since he had memory, he had never dreamed of butterflies and puppies, of canceled school days or cakes, he dreamed of battles and revolutions, of martyrs and sacrifices. The first time he had asked his father why his older cousin was gone and when he was going to be back, he had been four years old and the tears that had run down his face as his father tried to explain what had happened had been half of grief and half of confusion. </p><p>He knew he and his sister had led a privileged life, as much privilege you could have in a place as district 12. They had a roof over their heads, food in their tables every day and heat during winter. He had never understood what truly meant to despair until he was old enough to comprehend that not everyone was as lucky as they both were</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life and pain...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WakeupSoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakeupSoon/gifts).



> It's my gift for WakeupSoon for the Les Mis x-mas exchange... It's not the most chery of them all but well *smiles shyly* I hope you like it darling.

Since he had memory, he had never dreamed of butterflies and puppies, of canceled school days or cakes, he dreamed of battles and revolutions, of martyrs and sacrifices. The first time he had asked his father why his older cousin was gone and when he was going to be back, he had been four years old and the tears that had run down his face as his father tried to explain what had happened had been half of grief and half of confusion. 

His father, the mayor of the town, was a good man though he had no more power that the one the capital allowed him to have. He was merciful and loved his people, but their district was poor and in bad conditions. Enjolras was proud of him, of how he had stood up to the capital as much as he could, how he had taken care of all of them.

He knew he and his sister had led a privileged life, as much privilege you could have in a place as district 12. They had a roof over their heads, food in their tables every day and heat during winter. He had never understood what truly meant to despair until he was old enough to comprehend that not everyone was as lucky as they both were. He was five the first time he saw someone cry because of hunger, and his little brain couldn't comprehend the idea of not having enough to eat. 

As soon as he was old enough, they were sent to school. And school was the only place in the whole district were there was true equality, there was no distinction between being the mayor's son or the worst crook's daughter, it was there where he met the people he regarded later in life as his family. They all came from all over the district, and someway or another they were brought together because of him and Cosette. 

First came Combeferre, Cosette's classmate and favorite project partner. Since Cosette was a year older than him, their classmates weren't the same and Combeferre was in his class. He felt intrigued by the lanky glassed eyed older boy who could spend hours upon hours reading without care in the world. With Combeferre came Courfeyrac, his younger brother, who was just a year younger than him and a total goofball. Courfeyrac dragged Marius in, yet another 'rich' boy from district twelve that was more awkward that anyone else he had ever met, and who could barely make a sound whenever he was around a girl, problem when he seemed to be followed everywhere by Éponine. Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras could never forget the grin in her face, or her strange sense of humor, Éponine Thénardier who was the first one of them to fall. 

During the first year of his education he was able to acquire a diverse group of friends, and his father being who he was, was delighted. But none of his friends would change his life, or have a bigger impact on it than Grantaire. Grantaire was not only five years older than them, way over three years older than the oldest of them all, Bahorel, but he was also Éponine's older brother. 

Enjolras had always liked to keep his hair long, sometimes even longer than Cosette's. His mother, one of the few memories he had of her, had always loved his long blond curls and he could clearly remember spending full afternoons with her as she brushed his hair and braided it. It had been a cold winter morning when he had met Grantaire, sure he had seen him once or twice whenever Éponine was able to join them in their games or even around school as the small yet older boy gave his friend her lunch for the day. But that day he started seeing him in another light. 

It had all started as a normal day, as all his days started at that age. The five year old had been dropped in school by his father, his sister staying in that day because she was sick, he could clearly remember. He had been away from his father's eyes and on his way to his classroom when it had all started. Émile, an older student, had out of nowhere pushed Enjolras to the floor, laughing as his lunchbox spilled open and his food ended up in the dirt.

“Look at that Raoul,” he laughed as he looked down on the young boy in the ground. “The little girl is going to cry.” Raoul laughed, and Enjolras could feel his cheeks burning and tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

“I'm not crying,” his voice had broke as he talked back, and the boys laughed louder. “And I'm not a girl!” He tried as hard as he could, but he could feel his lower lip trembling with the promise of tears.

“I don't think so,” Émile had crouched down at his side, picking a strand of his long blond hair and tugging at it harshly. “This is a girl's hair,” he pulled again and Enjolras cried out in pain, “so that means you are a girl.”

Enjolras was brave, and everything... but he had been just a little over five years old. He had started sniffing, and was about to start bawling when out of nowhere Émile was pushed away from him, ending up sprawled upon the lawn a few feet away from him. Enjolras had no idea of what exactly had happened, but he did recognized the person who was now standing in front of him. 

“And you fight like a girl Babet, and yet no one mentions that.” Enjolras slowly stood up, staying at the boy's back at all times. “Pick on someone your own age Babet.”

“Or what?” the other boy had been helped by his friend and was now standing defiantly in front of Enjolras's savior. Enjolras was trembling, those boys were more than a feet and a half taller than him, and even a couple of inches taller than his savior, he pressed himself to the older boy's back burrowing his face in his threadbare sweatshirt. 

“I'm going to put it in simple words so you can understand it, you big dimwit,” Grantaire's voice was rough and Enjolras couldn't help but feel safe as he heard it. “Anything happens to Enjolras from here on,” Enjolras tried to stay in place as Grantaire twisted and brought him at his side, smiling down at the teary eyed little boy, “anything,” his eyes were hard again as he looked onto Babet, “I don't care if it's a scrapped knee from flying off the swing or from someone pushing him around, it's going to be on you and you'll have to explain it to me, are we clear?”

He had thrown his arm around Enjolras shoulders, and the younger boy had immediately pressed himself to his side trying to keep his eyes from the older bullies. When both boys had staid too long silent for Grantaire's liking he asked once again, “Are we clear?”

Enjolras then had heard the tell tale sound of people running, and when he had ventured to peak from where he had been in hiding he noticed that they were now alone in the school yard. “Are you alright little mate?” The blue eyes looking down at him were full of tenderness and Enjolras couldn't help but throw himself into the older boy's arms.   
Grantaire let him, hugging him close for as long as Enjolras needed. “They won't bother you no more, you'll be alright I'll make sure of that.” And that day had been the start of Enjolras and Grantaire's story, they had never been further apart than necessary and soon the older boy had become everyone's unofficial older brother. 

But with Enjolras it had been different, everyone was close but their relationship was somehow closer, more real. With Grantaire among their mist it not only meant more time with Éponine, but time with the rest of the Thénardier siblings. Gavroche had been barely a year old when they had all met and as the years passed they were soon joined by Jean Paul and René.

Enjolras had asked Grantaire once the reason why his parents kept of having children, since neither of them ever took care of them. Grantaire had looked at him with a self depreciating smile on his face and answered that if they had more children, they could force them to take more tesserae which they then would sell over the black market. He had been enraged by that, and even more at the shrug Grantaire had answered him when he had said so. He had also said that another reason was that they didn't have to take care of them, since he did all that already and at his surprised look he had asked him a really simple question, Should he stop doing that?

The first time Enjolras had felt real fear had been during the reaping on the year he was seven. It wasn't like there was any chance that he could be chosen, since he was still four years ago from being eligible, but for the first time one of his friends, probably his best friend, was. They had all gathered in the town square, holding hands and hoping with everything in their little hearts that their protector, their older brother, would be safe. Enjolras had gripped Combeferre's hand especially hard, rage against the capitol, against the unfairness of the whole system making him tremble with repressed emotion.

The night before, he had heard noises outside his bedroom window. He had tried to pay no notice to it, but it wouldn't desist. When Enjolras had finally looked out of his window he had been shocked to realize that Grantaire was standing under his window, curls and smile on his face. His friend had, after climbing up and entering his room, staid with him throughout the night confiding in the young boy about his fears. He had told Enjolras back then that his name was seven times already, and that he was afraid not for himself but of what could happen to his siblings if he was reaped. 

All of that was on Enjolras mind as he heard the person sent by the capitol give her speech. As everyone turned their eyes to the screens to see the video of the 67th Hunger games his eyes staid on Grantaire, and blue eyes connected with each other as long as they could. The girl was the first to be reaped, and he felt a pang of pity at the silence as someone girl he had no recollection on stepped onto the platform. He felt as everyone tensed around him when the boy's reaping was announced, letting out a collective sigh of relief as an older classmate was called to be the tribute for that years game. They would later talk about it, about how awful it felt to be grateful for someone being picked to die, but at the moment they were all glad it wasn't one of them.

Life went back to 'normal' with them sharing laughs, games, dreams and fears. The next years brought yet another addition to their 'family' with the arrival of René, the youngest Thénardier to date. Feuilly's family passed away in a fire and he had been sent to live at the orphanage, and Bahorel had finally, not like it was much, passed Grantaire in height even if he was three years younger than the small thin teenager. Grantaire continued being as he was, positive and protective of all of his friends. Enjolras had been moved up a grade, leaving Musichetta and Éponine behind him to join his sister, Combeferre and Feuilly in their grade. 

This time, when the reaping arrived, they were a little less scared, a little more positive. That was probably their mistake, they had lowered their guard and if anything life in district twelve should have taught them by then, it was that happiness was only momentary, that it never lasted. Enjolras, now at eight years old, was gangly and tall reaching Grantaire's shoulder much to the older boy's chagrin. They had spent the night before it together once again, and this time Grantaire had asked a favor from his young friend. Enjolras had promised to take care of his brothers in case anything happened, he had promised that his father would take in the three young boys, all under five years old, under his care in case something happened to him. Enjolras had joked and told him there was no way that anything would ever happen to him, that he was the luckiest person he knew and that there was no way he was being reaped that year. Grantaire had only gathered the boy in his arms and burrowed his face in his long blond hair, not a word being spoken after that. 

The moment Grantaire's name was called, there was no silence as usual, the cries of the small group of children that were his family, to whom he meant more than anything was heard across the whole town. Valjean had shaken Grantaire's hand before pulling him into his arms, and Enjolras wanted nothing but to break free from the hold Combeferre had on him and run across the courtyard to his friend. He was pulled back by someone and pushed until he was moving along with the mass of people leaving the square as if nothing had happened. He wanted to lash out at them, didn't they know that his best friend had been reaped? That he was on his way to probably leave him forever?

He was brought to his father's office, where his sister finally was able to put him into her arms. He knew they were going to be given a chance to say goodbye, and it was the thought of Grantaire's last image of him being a crying mess that kept him from breaking down. His father arrived a few minutes later opening the door to take them, all of them, to the room where Grantaire was being kept. As they made their way there Enjolras noticed that the Thénardiers were no where to be found, and he was glad, for the lone reason that they would get more minutes with him because of that. 

The moment Valjean opened the door the children rushed in to swamp the older boy with hugs and blabber and he could do anything but hug back and try to reassure them of his safe return. Enjolras watched from the door, not moving closer, letting the others have their moment. Grantaire hugged every single one of them, almost breaking down as Éponine made him promise he would return and at Gavroche's innocence in asking where he was going. He hugged little Jean Paul, who started crying the moment he was passed by to Bahorel, and Renne who was asleep not having a care in the world at six months of age. 

“Children,” Valjean's authoritative voice made them all stand back, and with a motion from the only adult the wretched group of children seemed to respect they started saying their goodbyes to their friend. Grantaire kept his calm facade as they exited the room one by one, making faces at Gavroche as he sent him a last anxious look. The sound of the door closing, leaving Valejan, Enjolras and Grantaire alone sounded so final that the dark curly haired boy had to sit down before his legs stopped working. Valjean approached him, crouching down in front of him, patted his knee before only saying “Don't worry about them,” before exiting the room leaving the two friends alone at last. 

“Aren't you going to say anything to me?” Grantaire was looking down sadly at his hands in his lap, not being able to look up at Enjolras as he did so. Enjolras said nothing, but slowly walked up to Grantaire, settling down in his lap and curling his lanky frame around him. That moment, both boys couldn't take it anymore, they busted out crying in each others arms, not being able to say anything as they clutched at each other as if trying to become one. It felt like no time was passed before they were being torn apart, Valjean tried to talk them into standing back, but they disregarded his pleas and moved into the room. The mayor almost punched one on the face as he pulled Enjolras back from Grantaire roughly, throwing the boy away from the tribute. 

“You better come back R!” Enjolras yelled as he tried to break free from his father's hold as the peacekeepers dragged Grantaire away, “You better do it! If you don't I swear I will never forgive you! You have to come back to me!”

The next two weeks were hell for him. Not only he had to live with the fact that he had yelled at his friend for the first time in his life, he had to also see said friend being parade around the capitol to be cooed at since he was the youngest of that year's tributes. He had never been more grateful at the fact that he had been brought up a year than during those times, being able to cling to his sister and other best friend as they watched the countdown for the games to start was a blessing.

He had spent the whole four days of the games glued to the screen. From the moment they gong was heard and he saw as Grantaire ran away from the Cornucopia to latter climb into one of the trees around the field to wait for his opportunity, to the moment his friend pushed the district one boy from the top of the rock he had been cornered in. The relief he felt as he saw and heard that last canon blast was immense, but the look on his friend's face was anything but joyful. Grantaire had been proclaimed victor, taken to the hospital and later taken to be crowned by president Snow.

They had all seen his smile as he was interviewed, but only Enjolras seemed to realize it was fake. They went to wait for him at the train station, annoyed as they were kept from him by the peacekeepers in favor of his parents. Enjolras sneered at Madame Thénardier's fake tears, and even more as Grantaire's father pulled him into a hug as soon as he got off the train. The first real smile Enjolras saw from his friend was when he was allowed to pull his siblings, into his arms, and even then there was something the precocious eight year old knew was wrong. 

Life changed quickly for Grantaire after that, he was brought to live at Victor's Village, one of the two people who actually lived there. He made perfectly clear that his parents weren't allowed at his home, and Valjean being the mayor gave the order to let the youngest Thénardier to live with him. It was good, no it was great, for a time at least. Grantaire was still at an age were he was suppose to go to school, but his status as a victor exempted him for doing so if he wanted it... and out of nowhere he wanted it. 

Enjolras started seeing less and less of his friend as days passed, he was not going to school and he was sending Éponine on errands and whats not instead of doing them himself. He was no longer part of their games and he spent most of his time at home surrounded only by Jean Paul and René. Enjolras was worried, probably more than he had been during the games. He tried talking to Éponine and Gavroche about it, but the former didn't understand what he meant since she saw his brother everyday and he seemed happy and the latter, well he had no idea of what was happening. 

A beautiful Saturday morning, when Enjolras saw Éponine arrive with his brothers but without sign of Grantaire he had enough. With a meager apology he left his playmates before taking off running to Victor's village, not bothering to knock as he arrived to his friends' house. That proved to be a mistake. 

What he walked into, was not a thing the now nine year old was able to explain. His friend, his sweet hopeful friend, was sprawled out in his living room couch with at least five bottles of alcohol scattered around him. He looked sickly pale, and Enjolras witnessed as he simply rolled over and puked into the living-room floor.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras whispered, heart breaking as his friend raised his bloodshot eyes to look at him. His gaze was empty, as if every single feeling he had had been extracted from him. 

“'Ras?” Grantaire tried to stand up, making Enjolras wince as he stood upon his own vomit. He tried to take a step towards the blond boy, but was too drunk to be able to make it further than that one step. 

“What have you done Grantaire?” Enjolras voice was hard, as hard as a prepubescent boy's voice can be. 

“I'm trying to forget,” was all he said before busting out in tears. Enjolras, not knowing what to do moved to hug him, grunting as the older boy pulled him closer and burrowed his face in his shoulder.

That hadn't been the only incident like that from then on. Grantaire was still responsible enough to take care of his siblings, but as soon as he had some kind of time for himself he chose to spend it in the bottle instead of with his friends. Everyone started to get together at the Thénardier's house, trying and failing, to help Grantaire as much as they could. Between all of them were able to keep the little children up float, especially when Grantaire had to leave for long periods of time for 'capitol business'. Things got even worst after the next games, when Grantaire at age fourteen had had to 'mentor' the next batch of tributes. Thankfully Bahorel and Bossuet, being the next ones of their group to turn twelve, had not been reaped.

Grantaire had returned a mess, a mess that Enjolras alone had any semblance of idea how to deal with. He had spent days barricaded in his room with only alcohol and sometimes Enjolras as companions. His friends constant companionship and time seemed to help the older boy a little bit, his drinking still at large but somehow more contained. He was able to function properly enough that his brothers had the best life they could in a place like 12th but again, nothing can last forever. 

Every year since that terrible reaping, at least one of them became old enough to be part of that awful tradition. Grantaire had not allowed any of them to ask for any tessarae, giving them whatever they needed for them and their families. 

Enjolras and Grantaire had kept their little tradition, every year even though Grantaire was no longer part of it, they had sat huddled together as if he was. And every year Grantaire's eyes wouldn't leave Enjolras's as he stood beside his father as the names were called out. Grantaire had almost been frantic the year he had first been part of the reaping, and it had fallen on Enjolras's shoulders to calm him down instead of being the other way around. Enjolras didn't really mind, he preferred it to be the two of them against the world instead of Grantaire choosing alcohol over him. 

And then the 70th Annual Hunger Games arrived. Enjolras had to be truthful, he thought that once had been enough, that the odds had already been against them and that it wouldn't happen again. That year Courfeyrac, Marius and Éponine had joined them in the reaping, the only one left outside of the reaping was Joly now. The moment Éponine's name was called out Grantaire's eyes who had been on him as usual snapped to look at his little sister, at his baby sister. He saw the devastation on Grantaire's whole demeanor, and Éponine's courage as she made her way to the stage. She walked up, standing beside her brother and letting him wrap his hands in hers. He had no idea of who was the boy who had been reaped, but sooner than he thought possible he was once again being pulled into one of the dull rooms in the main building to say goodbye to one of his friends. 

He wasn't as close to Éponine as he was to Grantaire, letting Marius and her little brothers take as much time as they could in their goodbyes. “Take care of him when I'm gone,” she had whispered to his ear as he hugged her, and he couldn't help but hug Grantaire on his way out. The now slightly smaller man hugged back as tightly, tucking his head in the younger boy's neck. Enjolras had kissed the side of his head, moving back and looking to see if anyone noticed before he wiped the older man's tears from his cheeks. 

And that had been the last time he had seen Éponine Thénardier alive in person. She, he discovered during one of Grantaire's drunken ramblings, disregarded her brother's advices and did everything exactly the opposite the only living victor of 12th had asked her to do. She had showed off during the grading and had pretty much painted a target in her back, her story was over before the first hour of the games were done and with both of his tributes dead, Grantaire was allowed to go back home before the games were even done. 

The Thénardiers were inconsolable. Grantaire started drinking more and more, and Gavroche, at that moment already nine year old had had to take over his brother's duties. It wasn't weird to see Gavroche ushering the two youngest Thénardier to school and back, making his rounds to the market and even buying the alcohol his older brother drank as if it was water. 

“You don't have to do that Gav,” Enjolras had told him one day when the little boy passed him in the street, catching up to him and stopping him where he was. “You don't have to buy him anything.”

“What would you know?” Gavroche all but sneered at him, and Enjolras couldn't help but take a step back. This was not the happy little boy he had almost helped raise. “Do you have any idea of what we're going through? I don't believe so,” he spat out the words, looking at Enjolras with raw anger in his eyes. 

“You have forgotten about us,” Enjolras gulped down the guilt that tried to spread across his chest. It was true, they or he had stopped going to their house as much as he used to. “You are all still hung up on Éponine's death, of how that felt to you all... she was our sister!” the boy was crying now, big fat tears making their way down his cheeks, “and my brother was the one that watched die! Do you have any idea of the nightmares he has? He wakes up yelling out her name, your name! In the middle of the night,” he looked down at the bottles he carried in his basket, “this is the only thing that keep the nightmares at bay, and I for one,” he looked sadly up at Enjolras, “care enough to try and keep him sane.”

Enjolras had been too shocked to say anything, and with a last huff the nine year old left him behind. Enjolras had been on his way to school, but in that moment he decided to turn on his heel and slowly made his way towards Victor's Village. He passed his father in the street, and he did nothing to stop him as he realized the direction he was on. He didn't bother to knock, just like he had done all those years ago when he had been nothing but a little boy. He felt like crying when after looking everywhere in the first floor he finally found what was left of his best friend asleep in the bathroom floor. 

“Oh Grantaire,” he whispered as he knelt at his side, checking if he had a pulse first and feeling grateful when he felt one. He then moved to sit, moving so he was able to cradle Grantaire's head in his lap. He staid there for hours, gently combing his hands through his dark curls as he slept on. Grantaire slept for a while longer, before waking up to violently lurch towards the bathroom to vomit. 

Enjolras heard, as he knelt at Grantaire's side, as the youngest Thénardiers got back from school. Gavroche actually gave him a small sad smile as he opened the bathroom door to see him patting Grantaire's back as he once again emptied his stomach. 

Nothing was the same after that year. The next few years didn't change much, neither of them got reaped but Grantaire still had to go through anything the capitol wanted from him. Enjolras's heart broke with how much more broken his friend was every time he came back from one of those trips... and even more after loosing the tributes chosen every year. 

Grantaire, his sweet friend Grantaire, had become a cynic drunk. He was almost never sober, smelling like alcohol all the time... but he was still Grantaire. He was still the boy that protected the then smaller than average blond boy, the friend who encouraged them all, the only person Enjolras had ever thought of spending the rest of his life with. 

While Grantaire used every small chance he had to self destruct, Enjolras used those same moments to try and help. He, together with the rest of their friends, were usually found at the victor's village. They helped Grantaire and Gavroche to take care of the younger boys, they were there... the only thing they could do after all. Enjorlas's heart broke with each day Grantaire's blue eyes were bloodshot and his breath smelled of whiskey but he lived for every half sober smile, or night spent cuddled in his arms. 

The night before the 74th Reaping they spent it like usual, cuddled in each other arms. It was the fifth year Enjolras was eligible, it had been four years since Éponine's games and Enjolras wanted to so much for his friend but he was scared. That morning, as he woke up before the smaller dark haired man in his arms he ventured to do so, he took a deep breath and planted a small kiss on his lips. 

When Grantaire woke up hours later, all he found was a small note from his blond friend and orders of making his way to the reaping as usual. He, for once, tried to look presentable as he made his way with his brother's downtown, trying to hide the terror he felt as Gavroche made his way to stand beside his friends at the reaping. He made his way to stand beside Valjean, giving the older man a nod as a greeting and immediately seeking the younger Valjean's eyes as usual. 

The reaping started, the girls first as usual. There was nothing else but Enjolras's eyes for him, so he wasn't exactly aware of the reason why his friend's eyes left his so suddenly. He came back into himself when he noticed the blond girl making her way to him, to them, to the platform. His eyes made contact with blue eyes, blue eyes filled with terror but at the same time with strength. He couldn't help but let some of his tears fall as Cosette stood beside him, hand clasped in his tightly. “I will get you back alive,” he whispered as he saw as Effie made her way back to pick the boy's tribute name, “I swear.”

“I know the mayor's daughter will be an amazing competitor,” the joyful tone in Effie's voice, and her chuckles were lost in the wind as everyone mourned the choice. “And now, for this year's boy tribute,” she put her hand in the bowl with the names on it and made a show of moving her hand around. She took a piece of paper, smiling at the cameras as she proceed to open it, “Gavroche Thénardier.”

Valjean's hand under his arm was all that kept the 21 year old from collapsing, he felt as he was about to pass out as he watched his little brother raise his face in defiance and start to make his way towards the side to be escorted to the raised dais. 

“I volunteer!”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry if it's not what you were hoping for... I kinda stalked your tumblr and saw that you like the hunger games too, so hopefully you will like it. Anyway I'm writing another one that's angst free and that shall be gifted to you too... Happy Holidays!


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